Review Of The Msic Tapes W/ The David Nelligan Thing At Cyprus Avenue In Cork July 12th 2013.

Love On Trial

Love waltzed up to the witness stand

He had nothing to hide, he was a legitimate

business man,

in a dapper suit, looking like a real beaut,

he took an oath on the bible, crossed his heart,

after a sip of water the cross examination could start.

The lawyer paused, his mind filled with thoughts

of old flames burning, nostalgia out of its box "Mr. Love" he stood as he began,

his tone the biased one of the celibate man,

"Tell the court what it is you,

as the embodiment of Love actually do?"

"Well," replied Love, with a strong baritone,

" try and make sure no one ends up alone".

"That dance in your stomach when you notice someone

Those days that look bright even in the absence of Sun

When you notice special people,

the ones that spin in a circle

inside your head.

The Chills, that's what I give you, it pays the bills

and keeps me well fed."

"So, you're a humanitarian, can turn the bookish boy

into a barbarian,

you inspire poets and the don't know its,

the dreamers, you give truth to believers,

Well Mr. Love you're caught out, if that's even your

real name which I very much doubt.

I propose you're a fraud, a money grubbing toad

who was making a living, of sucking people in

and you feel you'd sweeten the deal

by allying yourself with that man!

Let the record show, that I did and know-

­lingly point to the month of February not Jan!

That both of you started to hope,

that if you schemed, you could be teamed

up and take, the money people make

with a dirty trick of telling folks,

to be romantic on this day more than most!"

Defence counsel objects, "This is a terrible outburst

it makes no diference, he hasn't the evidence

to back up his claims, alibis check out, I don't see any names

of people to support or refute, but I guess it doesn't hurt to dispute

but his argument is to his cases detriment

it makes him look witless,

your honour, please use your power,

he's badgering the witness!

and Romance isn't dead,

the bullet only grazed his head.

He's in a bad way, I think he's in a coma,

We'll have to wait see if the police locate

that blue Toyota.

There's no case here, they're in denial

I say we move to a mis-­trial!" The Judge stony faced and taciturn

remarked "When it comes to love

even the scholarly have much to learn.

I don't know if Mr. Love is indeed

a co-conspirator in this act of greed.

If he and Feb got together,

to see if they could help one another,

but Love has made mistakes in the past

the crimes committed in his name are vast.

Then again the man has made such beauty

that even a old warhorse such as I am forced

to concede.

Romance was the first victim

but this isn't just about him

I say this to you Prosecutor.

Where was the defendant on the night

of the Valentines Massacre?!

Oh I've been a judge a long long time

but even I think this a heinous crime

and the case is a mess,

Let me consider the evidence presented,

is Mr. Love a good man or is he demented

I'll make my ruling after a short recess!" While I hate to end on something of a stiff clanger All questions of Love must invariably end on a cliffhanger...

Chatter

a clipped message

man to boy

and back again

im not sure

if i even want to touch you

but i ll know again

tonight when the chatter

dies down

and im helped by the forces

and cogs of age

in the drawn out years

ive avoided the answer

some twisted leg chairs

and the onset of winter

The Clock Doctor

I want to hide in an old house

want to lie curled on that kitchen bench

I need to taste the rain, collecting on your hair

I need your voice to wish away the lookalike ghosts

the last few years is the reflection of a laugh

we shared in cruel haste and curtailed sunshine

kept for you, if not by design,

than at least by my own shaky hand

and when we sat together,  how intimate was the arc

that we drew

how the crowd would leave us be How even the most ill informed person

just knew

go back to the wilderness seat

return to that most unsure state of grace

I will not season any of the blunt sentiments the thud of every decision, good and bad have equal weight.

at least give me her in the brief encounter and the poor

resolution of a dream

Let me frame her in that uncertain geography.

Judo Intellectuals

The crowd was going wild as the two combatants social circled each other ready to pronounce, if the chance presented itself. They began to chant the name of the younger fighter, an artist who was given the public tested nickname of Sugar Man Ray Leonard. Thing is he was called that because he was boxing clever. But that would do him no good. This was judo. The more experienced fighter was dubbed the Obscure as he had a plethora of knowledge that served him well in his previous matches. He had swiftly defeated Thesaurus Rex and the Hip-Ocrite was no match for his peerless learned off references and his relentless posturing. He bristled at his nickname, fearing some people would assume a thematic link to the band The Cure, a musical outfit far too well known for this individual to associate himself with.  His coach stood on the sidelines, chewing on his stereo-gum mouthing the lyrics from a million Japan only released b-sides. He had prepared his fighter well but you never know where a heated conversation could go. In this world of Wikipedia as the ultimate training tool, fighters had it tough. Everyone was so well informed these days. As Sugar Man Ray unleashed a shaky but compelling treatise on the disestablishment of outdated draconian governmental ideals the Obscure felt his intellectual mettle take a bit of a knocking. Politics was a weak area and he had made the mistake he always did. He wasn't holding a liberal arts magazine in front of his face as protection. He began to sweat and looked towards the timer. Was it really the same round? It had felt like this particular period of time was stretching on as long as a contemporary art installation. The polymath just didn't add up. Following another well timed satirical swipe from Sugar it was clear he was struggling with his topics and lazily slurred a passage from Franny and Zooey in an attempt to steady himself. "That's as deep as you go Salinger-wise buddy? Pathetic!" his opponent taunted him. "Let me introduce you to my little friend Seymour.." Another direct hit. The Judgemental corner began scribbling in their moleskins and this fight seemed to be ready to Finnish like it was Apocalyptica.  To be fair, in traditional judo punching isn't allowed but the other fighter had gotten in his punchy prose before anyone was talking about getting punches in. Things hadn't always been this way. He had loved to absorb cultural touchstones as a child for the sake of proper learning but it was when a teenage desire to "take on the system" had mutated into a smug 20-something hubris did he realise he had lost his way. What was once a Scott Pilgrimage for him had now become just another Ghost World of thwarted ideals and expressionistic graphic novels. And the fighting industry wasn't the same either. The "Psuits" had it all sewn up, in both meanings of the phrase. Obscure wasn't ready to just fade into obscurity that easily and with a well planted zinger on his opponents moniker. "You should be called Sigur Ros Leonard!" he got his second wind. But it was probably the first wind most of the crowd had heard of. He stepped up his game, readying his signature move, a complicated maneuver his critics had called "The Pullman". It was just an elaborate name for back-Philip that he'd poetry slam on Sugar but the timing was very important. It was his turn to taunt. "Stop hitting your Will Self! Stop hitting your Will Self as he spun his way around Sugar Man Ray he began spouting film reviews of of French New Wave cinema, adding some bland platitudes about a cultural Renaissance. His mixture of classicist film critiques before a swift super(upper)cut of famous film quotes and insults proved too much for his once formidable foe. "I always said I'd hurt you,"The Obscure said in a moment of faux sincerity to his enemy. " I told you I'm a fuck up who would mess you up in the long run." Sugar Man Ray conceded defeat, reasoning that he had a mean Left Agenda. "But then I lean on my left a lot too," he consoled himself. Retiring to his library just outside the ring he began to lick his wounds and apply for unrealistic environmental drives. The Obscure had won the day and perhaps garnered too much acclaim. He knew his career was over but he was going out in a big cult classic way.  The Referee/Lecturer held up his hands to the build of an ecstatic crowd cheer.  This was the crowd who had just minutes ago wanted Sugar Man Ray to truimph but they had quickly changed their minds. I think it's called backlash. "Well Educated Ladies and Thoroughly Well Researched Gentleman. I present to you The Obscure who is our new Noam Chom-pion!!"

An Illuminating Encounter

Sam was sick of waiting. The woman on the phone said the Electrician could arrive at any time on the Monday between the hours of 9am and 5pm. That was his whole day gone. He had to book some time off work, which hurt him more in principle than anything. He couldn't have gone in any way, not with this hanging over him. He felt very unfulfilled at his job and it was the one place his ideas were never heard or nurtured. So Sam killed some time, reading, watching TV but in all his pursuits he was distracted. Afraid he would lose it, if some part of his mind wasn't constantly dwelling on it. At 1.43, there was a knock on his door. Cursing the low door ways of his house he carefully ducked as he walked through them into the hallway. "Hello Sir, "came a cheery voice from the Electrician as he entered the house. "I'd ask what's the problem...but I have eyes. I can see it quite clearly!" Sam didn't need to point it out. Over his head, a few feet up, hung a light bulb floating in the air but totally dead and dark, as if someone had turned it off. "I've had this all weekend. Couldn't leave the house and there was no-one on call til Monday, "Sam fumed, leading the Electrician into his kitchen. They both sat at the table. "Thanks for coming out though." The Electrician replied. "Thank you for being here! You have no idea how often I go out to someones house and there's no-one to let me in." "So like a false alarm?" "Oh yeah, I have to remove false alarms from people psyches all the time!" Sam poured a drink for his guest. "Alright Buddy," the Electrician bellowed, "Talk me through it." "Ok, last Friday night, I came up with this ridiculously good idea. We're talking a game changer. Well maybe. I'm a sort of a part time inventor and well I was really excited but then...well this happened. The light bulb appeared over my head but it was switched off. Is this common?" "Sure, happens all the time. You see people are...y'know...tentative with ideas. On like a subconscious level. They worry it mightn't be thought out enough, or sometimes folk are afraid that their idea has been done before. It all depends on how you're wired man." Sam was anxious. "I'm afraid to take a shower! I don't want to get electrocuted!" The Electrician looked in his bag. Rifling through it, it was obvious he was trying to find some thing. He removed various forms of pliers, voltage indicators and insulation. Sam's eyes widened at each new tool that was laid on the table. It looked like it was going to be a physically taxing job. Finally the tradesman found what he was looking for. "There she is, at fucking last." He placed a messy notebook on the table along with a chewed on pen. Noticing Sam taking in all the hardware he laughed. "Oh no. No! This isn't for your job Lad. My next job is a husband and wife. Their relationship needs a little bit of a spark after all these years! For you ,all I need is a notebook." Sam was unsure about this. "For real?" The Electrician began to put away the miscellaneous equipment before testing that the pen could write. He looked up at the poorly illuminated Sam. "Basically we have got to work through your idea a bit more. Flesh it out. And boom, let there be light!" Sam shifted nervously in his chair. "Um...well....I'm not so sure about going through my idea..." "Jesus man, I'm not going to steal your idea. I'm happy with my lot in life and plus I've been privy to far more lucrative jobs than this. I think I'll beat temptation here." For the next hour Sam outlined his great idea. The Electrician was taking notes. As a seasoned worker, he asked the questions that needed to be discussed to ensure the ideas viability. Despite his initial hesitation Sam enjoyed the process and even indulged in a little give and take about the concept. 

Success! The light bulb over his head flickered to life and while it still remained that bit dim, it was nonetheless a nice soft light. "Ha, I wouldn't read by it, "The Electrician joked. "But as ideas go, it gets my volt!" Sam waved off the helpful Electrician, telling him he would have to be credited, should the plan come to fruition. "I'll just take the bill kid. It's my job!" Getting back into his van, he was dismayed to learn it would not start. "Fucks sake," he exhaled. "This is a state of the art vehicle here. It's meant to run on fumes!" A few more tries of the ignition proved fruitless. He took out his mobile and made a call. He was informed that it might take an hour or two for what he asked to be done. "Great, I'll just have to sit here then." He sank back into the drivers seat. "And wait for that damn Fumigator."

In-Jokes

The Rabbi was late. So I was drafted in. The change of pace was nice since I'm usually behind closed doors. My job description is as the eternal knocker.  I guess my girlfriend is right, it's a dead end job, the stalest set up in joke circles. But I have mouths and...well Lines to feed. Knock, knock. My knuckles are so damn blistered after so many years. I wait for the inevitable first question. Then my hands fumble over the card I've been given. Always a different word.  They ask their second question. I deliver the punchline. The whole world groans. We are the necessary evil of the humour community. It could be worse though. The guys in the physical comedy building bend over backwards, both literally and metaphorically for their laughs. They have to slapstick it out. The poor bastards. Today however I'm spreading my wings. I'm going anecdotal. Posing as a Rabbi and hoping everything is legit. Because outside of a joke context, impersonation of a religious figure might be illegal. Hmmm, maybe I should look into this. I signed my contract or Gag-order as they say in the biz, so I should be covered.

My Vicar co-star isn't being too welcoming but I recognise him from other marquee jokes. He thinks he's so hot under the collar but I know he had some trouble a few years ago, linked to some pretty sexist jokes that dogged his career for a while and if rumours are to be believed...well... let's just say this guy will never be the straight man in a double act if you get my meaning... "Welcome to the team," The Priest extends his hand to me. "You're our Rabbi, yes?" "Yeah, I guess the original Rabbi, well He-brew us off" I laugh, trying to fit in but I'm met with a stony silence from my colleagues. I chide myself for my attempts at a pun. Leave that to the Word Players Union. They are well e-quip-ped for all that. The Vicar chimes in. "He called in sick. Even though he could still work like that. There's a market for sick jokes but I don't want anything to do with that. We're artists." He looks me over and continues.  "Listen Man, I just want this over and done with as quickly as possible. I have a satirical job to get to in about an hour and I have to travel across the funny pages in Read-Hour traffic. So can we just get this done?" I choose to ignore the display of arrogance as I really can't stand folks like that. I can see their punchlines coming a mile off. Conceited, laughing all the way to the Prank. Looking around the bar, I'm trying to find something to talk about. It's then I notice a door marked PRIVATE. I am intrigued and say to the Priest, "What goes on in that room over there?" "Oh that. That's a Private Joke. For V.I.P.s only I'm afraid." A little deflated, I motion over to the Barman, our most significant foil. "Who is performing this joke, if I may ask?" "A real Stand Up guy" comes the response.  I wait for Tongue, the notoriously slippery producer, to usher in the director, a Mr. F. Bone. I've heard about him, Funny Guy, he and his wife are hotly tibiaed to be huge. He addresses the crowd. "Listen everyone, I'm easily tickled. But that doesn't mean I don't want 100% from everyone here. Let's give 'em a good ol' belly laugh!" As the set up begins, I think about my darling Taboo and how I have to nail this for her. This joke will literally open doors for me. No more damn knocking.

Mountain Dew- An Invite Only Modern Fable

There once was a Mountain Dwelling Recluse whose close friend was a little wolf named Cole. At some point every day he turned on his old fashioned, stained gramophone and would listen to beautiful music. Reverberating around his hovel, he would think about the joy of music in its endless variations and styles. Despite being a Recluse he had not always lived his life this way and in his past he made many good friends and after so long tasting the sweetness of solitude he decided on a change. It was long past time he brought the beautiful music he had loved so much to a selected crowd of friends and well wishers. And people from the far off land of some area named “Google". His noble wolf however would not be able to stay, as his dalliance with a Bear named Claire had produced an offspring. The little wolf went to mind his little cub. A talking and walking series of Fishbones offered his services on sound, this bony aquatic anomaly seemed to float between joints providing music and aural expertise. Crafty Canty, a local from a nearby territory where people went to feel good lost also pitched in to get this eclectic event off the ground.  A fair Maire-den who is a SuperBlonde, was on hand for whatever else needed doing, while her father the legendary Jerry (whose Moustache was rarely stained with Latte) and her two other brothers, Ciaran and Shane, turned the location from family setting to festival ready. A Great Balloon Race was undertaken by various parties but the first to arrive got there far more quickly,Toby honest, by Karr. A Jollins Green (Cack-ie green) Giant also appeared, while a Chameleon came back to Life for the soiree. This was the power of the mighty mountain dew on the location. Ominous rain threatened on the day but spirits refused to be dampened as people travelled far and wide to the Mountain, led by an array of Grave Lanterns the Recluse had dug up to ensure no-one got lost in the silent musical darkness.  Despite the presence of actual relations, the Recluse also extended his family to include more distant Relatives who sang sweet folky harmonies to all and sundry. Some other Man dola-ed out more harmony driven delight to the audience and it was clear looking at everyone, both Hymn and Her were Shaking and dancing in this case. Signal(s) were lost on phones (no-one could Ring Ian) but could be found on stage and is it any Young Wonder no-one cared about being without coverage, sealed off in this strange place? Next up was a sleepy rubber-band and like Elastic, oh Snap, they were good. Their inspired cover of You Only Live Twice resonated with the Recluse. He had now lived two ways, a solitary life and now one blessed with many new friends. "(Stevie) Gee, "  he thought to himself, " Plenty of Mac-room in my life for many more of these events." The night was a huge success, a sort of watershed moment (when Water was still on that is) that united a disparate group in some rural excess.  One band many looked forward to, in the end, could not play, one of its driving forces still loomed large over proceedings, lending his diverse talents to a few of the other performers.  The band of his that didn’t play? Well I won’t make a Stink about it either way. It certainly didn't Alter any of the Hours the crowd had in a negative way. The final thought of the Recluse was that if he kept this sort of event going, year in and year out, well, he'd be on a pretty Sweet Jelly Roll. Authors Note: Congratulations again to Colm and his family on a great night. To many more!

Arriving at "Conclusions"

And the cowboy, knowing he could never return to the town he had just saved sauntered off into the picturesque sunset, the darkening sky overhead looking like a candle dying out, it's orange coat stuck in perpetual shadow. His cowboy hatted silhouette became smaller and smaller as his story ended... Stirrup Trouble Sam reached the Sunset wall and swiftly found the door handle. Opening the door on the Sun, he stepped outside his story. It had been a long day and he was all narratived out. But he was looking forward to the after party drink. For the longest time as he reached the end of each chapter, or scene in the movie adaptation he had chanced him arm getting into that exclusive club. Each time however he was turned away. "If you aint winding down, you don't get in." The Bouncer would bark at him. "This establishment is for a certain final-tele." The 'Conclusions Lounge' was the hottest ticket in town and getting inside was about as hard as lassoing a rain cloud. However Sam had earned his free pass and he was legitimately a resolved character now. Endings are tough on everyone and having a nice place to go for the aftermath was a great source of solace for any character. The Bouncer eyed him but knowing he had finally made the list, he stepped aside pointedly. "Appreciated pardner," the poorly written archetype said tipping on his hat as he walked past. Inside the bar was quite crowded, it was Summer which meant a lot of TV shows were ending and movies were being watched. The Summer reading folk had a good few months to look forward to and wouldn't be darkening these doors for a while yet. People were buzzing around and telling each other the stories of how they ended up here. "Well I have to admit it, " a random man pontificated loudly nearby, "I wasn't sure about my particular storyline ending but it seemed to be very popular and i was so tired anyway, I just said, 'Bring it on!!'I'm thirsty!" The woman next to him responded. "Well at least you had a clear ending. I just dropped out of the story. I know I was a bit part but if they had given me one line indicating my life had continued...Well it would have been work anyway." Sam leaned against the bar and took a look at the drinks menu. He wasn't much of a drinker, all those saloon scenes were a misnomer but a few of the cocktails looked appealing.  "Give me an "Abrupt Stop." "That's not a drink Sir. That's when we cut people off. We had to introduce it after materials started having those multiple endings. Lord of the Rings had a lot to answer for." "Emm..ok then, " Sam pondered. "An 'Up in the Air' then?" "Excellent choice. You never know what you're getting!" Sam was a loner by nature and narrative and so he continued to eavesdrop on the people around instead of engaging with anyone. A soldier was talking to an Alien. "'Conclusions' is so much better than that last place we used to get dropped off at .Remember "Finishing Touches?" That place was always falling apart!" The Alien replied,"Have you heard? It's become a wrap-dancing club now." The solider just shook his head in disbelief. Another man who was standing next to them but wasn't involved in the conversation piped up. "Uhhh...do they provide...um...like...happy endings?" The Solider and the Alien just turned away. A sassy 20 -something year old female protagonist was giving directions to a friend of hers on a contemporary mobile phone. "I'm at the club. Where are you? You're where? Midsection Point? Jesus, that's ages away! You need to follow the arc along the coast and take a left at the Narrative Dead End and you should be able to see this place. It's a light at the end of a tunnel. No don't worry about it! I want you to experience a brand new culmi-nation. I'm just sorry I couldn't pick you up at the Foreword!" The bar man leaned into the cowboy. "Ah listen man, how are you going to pay for that drink? Have you prepared for every eventuality here?" Sam was quick to reply. "Oh don't worry, I have enough. I had a great payoff!" He did wonder where all his co-stars had gone to. Probably a private house party somewhere in the Third Act district. It didn't matter. Being surrounded by those people wouldn't have helped him come to terms with his big ending. Sam was a smart man. This wasn't just the end of his story. He had long felt the Western was running on empty as a genre. His sunset would be the last sunset for a while. 

Hours passed and he drank a lot of different concoctions. Outcome Rum, Sting in the tale, Anything with a Twist but the night was winding down. He looked around at all the various supporting casts, the backstory bunch and the tale-ing offs. He slumped his head onto the bar and began to drift off. Waking up a little while later he realised he had to go to the restroom. Staggering, his stirrups scraping across the floor he made his way from the bar. It was then he heard the barman on the phone in the backroom having a loud argument. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME. I'M FINISHED!...NO I DON'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT YOU ARROGANT PRICK! I mean if you go through with this deal, this establishment will be gone. And we got a good thing going here. All stories end and we have a reputation for being the best. I mean Penultimates will always be second best. I can't go back to my old job there!" Sam was saddened for the bar-man but also felt expired by what he had heard. He quickly left the bar and began the long walk into posterity.  **************************************************************************************** Conclusions quickly went into for closure. Lots of other venues vied for their business but Endings became quiet affairs. It became the norm for the gatherings to take place in a characters house or for people to spend time with friends and family somewhere special and private. On his first day the conflicted and flawed character stepped out of his story to get some air. He noticed a new building with an enticing sign. "Opening Soon". He couldn't tell if that was a sign or indeed, a bar name.

Self Pithy

Self felt Less, at a loose end a collection of "what to do" and hazy "what he did" He admired the zest of his friend who had just gotten a tattoo oh that crazy guy, Id! He had gotten an apostrophe When Self saw that tiny mark it sank in and he cried Self was so lost y'see He didn't have that shiny spark that would brand him as an "I'd..."

mortal eye

This mortal eye scratched like vinyl and popping like sun burst skies the bow of hands to chattering rain a soothing river to the front all the way to the dry back garden the people at rest in the alcove blackened with text are the walls and the nooks those patches of wisdom in these sorts of houses we talk in swift and unmistakable looks and the dead body language of rhythm All in all it's what must be done to feel warm or failing that, at least reborn back to a trusting age there's the myth about time having talons and we are all bound by something so vast that cues nature's stage